


I'd Bet on the Birds

by algernon_mouse



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/algernon_mouse/pseuds/algernon_mouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“C’mere,” Pat whispers. He reaches up and rests two fingers lightly on Jon’s hip. The skin there is warm and Pat strokes it softly. “C’mon, c’mere.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Bet on the Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by 7iris who is all kinds of awesome and amazing.  
> Title from the song Lets Fall in Love by Mother Mother

When Pat wakes up Jon is already hard and grinding against him. He can feel the wet seal of Jon’s mouth clamped against the muscle that bridges his neck and shoulder. Pat doesn’t bother to stifle his groan or the pleased shudder that follows. Instead, he lifts his head to glance at the clock on the nightstand before dropping back against the pillow. Jon continues to nip against the back of Pat’s neck. For a moment Pat leaves his eyes closed and just enjoys it. Finally he leans forward, curling one arm under the pillow. He arches his back, hiking one leg up the mattress to give Jon better access. The grip Jon has on his hip tightens. Pat sighs when Jon's dick strokes between his ass cheeks and bumps against his balls.

"Feels good," Pat mumbles. He makes another blissed-out sound into the crook of his elbow. Jon doesn't answer but he doesn't change the lazy pace of his thrusts either. After awhile Jon rubs the crown of his dick against Pat's asshole. Pat flinches, shying away. "S'kinda sore," he apologizes.

They've already fucked three times since Jon landed in Biel; the first time was upright and dirty against the door of Jon's hotel room. Pat hadn't cared about the burn then. He'd even liked it because it meant Jon was actually there. Afterward they’d showered and agreed on where to grab dinner. What they didn’t do was talk about their fight before Pat left Chicago or the radio silence that had followed after.

_"You said you would come with me. You said that," Pat had pointed out. "Obviously you were lying."_

_"I didn't lie," Jon argued. "I'm just not ready to give up yet."_

_"I'm not giving up!" Pat shouted. "I just wanna play!"_

Jon scoots forward and props himself up on one elbow. His dick is still wedged against the crack of Pat's ass but he's not pressing for access anymore. From this angle, Pat feels like Jon is looming over him. But then Jon always has. "Is this still okay?"

Pat nods. "Yeah. Feels nice."

Pat can’t see Jon clearly but he knows that Jon's leveling him with an intense stare.

"You sure?" Jon asks. He bows his head and rubs his dry lips back and forth against the curve of Pat’s shoulder. The only other movement is Jon’s thumb stroking against Pat’s hipbone.

Pat snorts then. "Do you need me to sign some sort of a waiver here?"

“You're an asshole," Jon grumbles.

"Takes one to know one," Pat fires back. There’s no heat behind it though and he can feel Jon’s lips curve into a smile against his skin.

"C'mere," Jon orders softly. "Turn over."

Pat rolls onto his side so he's facing Jon. His shoulder tingles hot for a few seconds while the blood rushes back into his arm. Jon leans in so that their foreheads are touching. Their breath mingles and Pat lets his eyes slip closed when Jon's mouth nudges against his own. He knows every inch of Jon's face anyway. He knows every expression, even the tiny ones that are gone before they fully register. Pat knows everything there is to know about Jon. He knows how to push every one of his buttons or draw him out of a bad mood. He knows how to make Jon whimper and beg. He knows how to find the four inch strip of tape from across 30 feet of crowded ice. Worse, he knows Jon could say all the same things about him.

Sometimes that’s scary as hell.

Jon catches Pat's lip between his teeth and tugs. "Stay with me," he says quietly.

Pat smiles against his mouth. “You have my dick in your hand. Trust me, I'm not going anywhere."

Jon pulls back, serious. "You know that's not what I meant."

Pat nods because it's true. It took them four years of push and pull to get here. Four years of sharing hotel rooms, t-shirts, and girls with high heels and tiny skirts. Four years of almost but not quite hook ups after too many drinks. Four years for them to finally land on the same page. Pat reaches over and grabs the lube off the night stand. When he uncaps it, Jon shakes his head.

"Not now," he says. "We don't have to. This is okay."

Pat upends the lube anyway. He coats his hand and then swabs between his legs. He uses the rest on Jon's dick before guiding Jon between his legs. "Like this," Pat breathes, clamping his legs closed. Jon’s eyes widen and Pat grins before pressing their mouths together. After that Jon thrusts between Pat's legs, gripping his ass and kissing him hard. Pat opens his mouth to it and lets Jon grind on him until he's winded. "I missed you," Jon pants.

Pat reaches up to palm the back of Jon's head. The hair there is long enough that Pat can grip it and tug lightly. He bites Jon's lip hard enough to make Jon hiss. Pat sucks the hurt away. "Missed you too."

Pat figures that has to be enough because it's as close as they'll get to an actual apology.

Jon whimpers. The sound is soft enough that it nearly gets buried under his sharp breathing. Pat can feel him starting to lose time now.

"You're so hot like this," Pat mutters, pushing him. He runs one hand down the length of Jon's back, his fingertips tracing the track of muscle that brackets his spine. When he reaches the curve of Jon's ass, he rests his hand there, feeling the rhythm of Jon thrusting against him. After a few seconds Pat reaches lower, working his finger against the crack of Jon's ass. "So fucking hot."

The lube squelches and the wet slide of Jon's dick against Pat's balls is making his dick leak. Pat lets go of Jon in order to reach between them. He grabs his dick and tugs himself roughly. He can feel Jon struggling to hold back his orgasm.

"Wait," Pat breathes. "I'm almost there. I'm almost."

"C'mon," Jon pleads. "C'mon." He buries his face into the soft spot under Pat's throat and mouths the skin there weakly. Jon shifts and raises his leg over Pat's, trapping him against the mattress. He jerks his hips a few more times. Pat feels the slip of Jon’s foot against the sheets.

"Almost," Pat grits out. 

Jon grips the side of Pat's neck. When he grazes the bruise there, Pat sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes fly open and he shudders. "Do that again," Pat orders.

Jon hesitates and then closes one hand over Pat's throat. The skin there is flushed but it goes white around the pads of Jon's fingers. Jon has stopped thrusting and Pat can feel him watching curiously. Pat teases the head of his dick with one hand and swallows under the pressure around his throat. "Harder," he whispers.

When Jon squeezes tighter, Pat comes undone. His orgasm hits him hard. Pat whines and grunts through it, writhing against Jon and arching off the mattress. He grips Jon’s wrist tightly though the aftershocks, holding him in place. When Jon finally lets go of Pat’s throat there is a faint outline of his fingers on Pat’s skin. Jon skims his hand back down the length of Pat’s side, stopping to curl over Pat’s hip before pulling him tight. He thrusts twice and comes, staring at the marks on Pat’s throat with a bitten off groan. 

For a few seconds they lie together afterward, slick with sweat and come, breathing hard. When Pat finally rolls back to face the ceiling, Jon is still watching him. He looks like he's trying to figure out what to say. Pat tilts his head to the side and reaches out to thumb Jon's chin. Jon ducks his head enough meet Pat's thumb with his lips. He's frowning when he glances up at Pat again. Pat reads the look and shrugs, embarrassed.

"It's weird, I know."

Jon shakes his head and Pat watches his eyebrows knit together. "I just didn't know that."

It's Pat's turn to frown. "It doesn't come up in conversation much, you know?" He’s heavy on the sarcasm. Jon waits for Pat to say more but Pat’s gone back to looking at the water marks on the ceiling. Eventually the silence becomes too big and awkward so Pat takes the corner of the sheet that's been worked loose and wipes at the come drying on his belly. 

When he gets up to shower, Jon stares after him. “So that’s it?” 

Pat stops at the door to the bathroom. When he turns around to look at Jon, Jon is sitting on the edge of the bed. The blankets are puddled on the floor at his feet. His dick is lying soft against his thigh. Outside, the night sky has brightened to a dull grey glow. The sun isn’t visible yet but the traffic is picking up. “I don’t know how to do this,” Pat complains. 

Jon scowls. “Do what? Us? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Pat throws one hand up to stop the conversation and turns into the bathroom. “I’m not doing this now. I’ve got practice in an hour.” Before he closes the door he hears Jon call after him. Pat angrily slaps the bathroom fan on with one hand and then runs the spray in the shower until its hot enough to sting. He washes his hair first and then pours a glob of Jon’s body wash into his palm. He works it over his chest and then washes between his legs, resting one foot on the lip of the tub for balance. 

When Jon pulls the shower curtain back, Pat looks up in surprise. “I’m not doing this later,” Jon says, stepping into the shower. Pat watches as Jon reaches for the shampoo. He pulls Pat’s head towards him and scrubs through his hair roughly. 

“I already shampooed.” His voice is muffled against Jon’s chest, but even Pat can admit that he sounds petulant.

“Shut up,” Jon sighs. “Just…shut up.” 

Jon stands back while Pat rinses his hair for the second time. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, awkwardly. Pat wipes the water from his eyes with his fingers and then studies Jon’s constipated expression. Jon frowns and tries again. “I just didn’t think we were gonna be the kind of people who needed a safe word to have sex.” Jon’s laugh is nervous. Pat shakes his head, looking past Jon’s shoulder to the shower rings holding the curtain in place. The spray has cooled off and Pat’s skin pimples where it’s exposed to the air. “Kaner?” 

Pat looks at him then. Jon’s eyebrows are drawn down into a frown. He reaches out and touches Pat’s elbow with two fingers, tentative. “I’m not going to pretend to understand it because I don’t. But if you like it--” Jon swipes his tongue against the back of his lip and clears his throat to buy time. “If you like that stuff, then okay.”

Pat nods finally. “Okay.” 

*

Breakfast is sitting on a cart outside the door by the time they get out of the shower. Jon drags it in while Pat jerks a t-shirt down over his head. After that, they sit on the edge of the bed watching the morning news while Pat loads up on scrambled eggs and bacon. He drains the plastic cup of orange juice on his way out the door and eats his bagel in the elevator.

It’s only a fifteen minute ride to the ice from Jon’s hotel. Jon hasn’t bothered getting a rental so they take Pat’s team-issued car. It’s black and Jon laughs at the large orange logo on the doors. “Is this for real?” Jon asks. Pat cocks his eyebrows and unlocks the door. “Just get in,” Pat mutters. By the time they get to the rink the edginess between them has faded and they’re trash talking like normal. 

Inside, Jon takes the stairs to the top of the blue line and settles into a seat to watch the practice. Pat spends the next three hours pushing hard through the drills. His legs are already tired when they start the last series of suicide sprints. Pat only looks up after he’s finished his last drive down the ice. He sags against the boards, feeling his pulse beating in his calves. Jon is still sitting on the edge of an unlit section. He’s too far away for Pat to gauge his expression. Pat assumes it’s set in its usual neutral glare. Tyler skates to a stop beside Pat, kicking up a wave of snow. He’s panting too, face red from the exertion. When he swears, it comes out in a breathless wheeze. Pat nods in agreement because that’s all he can muster. 

Pat lifts a hand in Jon’s direction to signal that they’re done. He smiles when Jon stands up in response. Tyler is already tugging his gloves off, tucking them under one arm. Pat reaches up and unclips his helmet as they skate off the ice. In the locker room Pat is squashed onto the bench beside Tyler. Pat cuts through the tape around his skates. He doesn’t look up when Tyler asks how long Jon’s going to be in town. “Just a couple of days,” Pat says. He grabs the rag sitting between them and wipes his blades dry before hanging them from one of the hooks overhead. “We’re gonna grab lunch at Baramundo’s after this. D’ya wanna to come too?”

Baramundo’s is a small bar and grill on Rue de la gare. It’s become Tyler’s favourite place to eat; if you can even have a favourite after only a few weeks. Tyler gives Pat a quick look before going back to striping off the rest of his equipment. “Nah. I don’t wanna crash your date.” 

Pat laughs. “It’s not a date.” 

“No?” Tyler looks genuinely confused. He gives his head a small shake. “Sorry, I just thought. I mean, I assumed.” 

Tyler’s stammering makes Pat laugh harder. 

Twenty minutes later, they’re heading across town. In the car Pat and Tyler chirp with each other easily while Jon flips through the guide book that Pat’s mom left on the floor. The pages for Paris have been earmarked and Donna’s loopy writing fills the margins on a few pages. Jon closes the book and fidgets with the radio before sitting back to look out the window. 

It’s an overcast day and the buildings look dull. When Tyler mentions Christmas in Paris, Jon’s head snaps around. He looks from Tyler then to Pat. “You’re going to Paris?” 

“Yeah,” Pat says, easily. “I thought I told you already?” 

“No,” Jon says. His mouth presses into a thin line. “You never said you were going for sure.” 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be fun,” Tyler says from back seat.

“You’re going too, Segs?” There is a dangerous calm to Jon’s tone that Tyler doesn’t pick up on. Pat shoots him a worried look before looking ahead at the road again.

Tyler’s smile is open and guileless. He fakes a thick French accent when he says, “Oui, oui. We’re gonna bust up ole gay Paris” 

Jon’s smile is tight-lipped. “Sounds fun.”

* 

After lunch they spend the rest of the day sightseeing. It's late by the time they drop Tyler off at his apartment. On the drive back to the hotel Pat doesn’t take his eyes off the road. When he pulls to a stop at a set of lights he fidgets with the radio and tries to pretend that nothing is wrong. By the time they get to the hotel, the silence is oppressive. After Pat parks the car, they sit for a minute listening to the cooling tick and ping of the engine. “Are you coming up?” Jon eventually asks. He sounds weary and for the first time since they dropped Tyler off, Pat really looks at him. 

Jon’s head is down and his jaw is clenched. There are faint bruises under his eyes from the jetlag. 

“Do you want me to?” Pat asks carefully.

Jon exhales and looks out the window. “Of course I want you to. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

Pat takes the keys out of the ignition without answering and Jon seems to sag with relief. Inside, they take the elevator to the seventh floor without talking. When they get to Jon’s door, Pat hesitates before putting one hand on Jon’s hip while he waits. Jon’s room is freshly cleaned and the bed has been turned down. The light on the nightstand has been left on and it’s casting a soft yellow pool of light in the dark room. 

Jon drops his keys on the desk and throws his jacket over the chair. When he turns around Pat is still lingering in his space. Jon reaches for him and Pat lets himself be pulled forward the last few inches. The kiss is soft and thorough as Jon turns him and walks him backwards toward the bed. 

They land on it with a quiet umph and Jon takes the lead, stripping Pat out of his t-shirt before shucking his own. Pat lies there and says nothing while Jon takes a few long seconds to look him over. Jon’s eyes are dark and possessive. His lips are red and bruised. Underneath everything, he looks wounded. “C’mere,” Pat whispers. He reaches up and rests two fingers lightly on Jon’s hip. The skin there is warm and Pat strokes it softly. “C’mon, c’mere.” Jon lowers himself over Pat, fitting his hips between Pat’s legs. Pat catches the back of Jon’s neck with one hand and brings him close enough that their breath mingles. Jon’s eyes are closed and his lashes look dark against the pale skin there. Pat nuzzles Jon’s mouth softly and coaxes him into kissing again. 

The heat builds slowly and Pat lets Jon’s hands skim over him restlessly. When their erections rub together Pat rocks his hips up to meet Jon’s as he grinds down. When Pat reaches to cup Jon through his jeans, Jon catches his hand and stops him. Instead he threads their fingers together and squeezes. Eventually the pace stutters to a halt. Jon kisses the side of Pat’s mouth, soft, dry and chaste. He leaves his head resting against the side of Pat’s face. Pat can feel him breathing deeply. Jon tilts his head to the side and presses another soft kiss against the side of Pat’s face. “I can’t do this right now,” he whispers before rolling off. 

“Hey,” Pat says. He pushes up on one elbow and sets his free hand on Jon’s bicep. His thumb brushes over the thin skin there. “Hey c’mon. Talk to me here.” 

Jon pulls his arm away and covers his eyes with it. “Not now, Kaner. I’m just too fucking tired.” 

*

In the morning, Pat doesn’t waste any time picking up where they left off. “I’m sorry about Paris,” he says. He’s drumming his toothbrush against the side of his leg while he talks. “But I know I told you before I left I wanted to go there.” Jon is staring at him but Pat charges ahead anyway. “And once we got here, mom thought over Christmas break would be a good time, so.” 

“You didn’t say anything about that,” Jon argues. “And what about Segs? Now he’s suddenly going too?” 

Pat gives him a blank look. His laugh has a bitter edge to it. “You’re on thin ice here, man. _You_ were the one not returning any of my text messages. And what about Segs? Are you fucking serious?”

Jon’s mouth twitches. 

“Why are we even fighting about this?” Pat asks, shifting gears suddenly. “This is so fucking stupid. Do you want to come to Paris?” 

“I can’t,” Jon says.

“Can’t or won’t?” Pat challenges.

“Can’t,” Jon says. “My family’s coming down to Chicago.” 

Pat shakes his head to clear it. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. _You’re_ mad that I made plans for Christmas without talking to you when you did the same damn thing? There’s a word for that, you fucking hypocrite.” 

“It’s not the same fucking thing!” Jon shouts, suddenly standing up. “I thought you were going to be in Chicago! I thought we’d be playing together by now. I thought--” Jon trails off and Pat sits heavily on the edge of the bed. Jon runs his hand through his hair and looks out the window. “I fucking hate Switzerland,” he grumbles. 

Pat snorts. “And I hate Bettman. But here we are.” 

Through the hotel door they can hear the housekeeping cart rattle down the hallway. Pat can feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest.

“I didn’t really think you were leaving,” Jon finally admits quietly. He’s still staring stubbornly outside when he scrubs his face with one hand. “Even when we knew for sure…I still didn’t.” 

Pat looks at the tight line of his back. Jon’s arms are folded over his chest now. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I just couldn’t keep waiting, you know?” 

Jon sighs and Pat watches his shoulders sag. “Yeah. I know.” For a minute they’re quiet and Pat rubs his thumb over the bristles of his toothbrush. It feels soothing. Pat stares down at it, watching the bristles bend back and then snap forward again. “For what it’s worth,” Jon adds. “I think you did the right thing.” 

Pat looks up then. Jon has turned around to face him. Pat can see the hang of his dick through his underwear. “Yeah?” 

Jon looks miserable but he gives Pat a small nod. 

Pat smiles back. “I feel like we’re having a moment here.” 

Jon closes his eyes briefly when he snorts and shakes his head. “You’re such a pez dispenser, Kaner.”

Pat’s smile is wide and happy now. He flicks the toothbrush at Jon. “Fuck you, I’m awesome.” Jon dodges it easily and tackles Pat to the bed. Pat laughs, pulling his knees up to protect his stomach while Jon tries to land a few light punches. They wrestle for a few minutes until Jon manages to wrangle Pat into a headlock. Pat’s grunt is muffled by the pillows. He pushes against Jon, weakly. 

“Get off me you fucker.” 

“Say uncle,” Jon demands.

Pat cackles. His nose is squashed against Jon’s bicep. “Uncle Fat Ass.” When Jon lets him go Pat flips onto his back and reaches for a pillow to stuff under his head. There is a crack in the ceiling and Pat studies it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Jon is lying on his back too. He turns his head to look at Pat, waiting. Pat focuses on the crack. “It’s different here. Everything is--” Pat flounders and settles on the obvious. “Different.”

Jon makes a sound in the back of this throat. If he’s waiting for Pat to say more, he doesn’t press. Pat lets his eyes close. The bed shifts when Jon rolls onto his side. Pat can feel Jon’s breath against his shoulder just before his hand slides over Pat’s hip to cup him through his underwear. Jon’s palm feels warm and his thumb softly strokes over Pat’s balls. It feels good and Pat sighs. 

“So what else?” Even though he’s not looking at Jon, Pat knows exactly what he’s talking about. For a second, Pat thinks about playing dumb. “And don’t play dumb with me,” Jon adds. 

Pat laughs and Jon smirks, looking pleased.

“You think you’re so smart.” Pat stretches and sighs. His quads are sore from his work out. It’s a good, bone-deep ache. When he curls onto his side he pokes the remote and watches it fall onto the mattress between them. Jon pushes it aside before rolling over. He bends one arm under his head to prop it up. The smile on his mouth is soft. Pat could lean in and kiss it; lean right in and derail this whole conversation. 

“But really,” Jon prods. “What else?”

“I like it a little rough.” 

Jon smiles again. “I knew that.”

Pat smiles back. “I like it…a lot.” He scratches the side of his nose with one finger feeling uncomfortable. “A lot rough, actually.”

Something flickers across Jon’s face that Pat hasn’t seen before. After a few seconds Jon nods, accepting. “What else?” 

Pat shakes his head. “Your turn.” 

“Me?” Jon looks surprised. “I dunno. I like blow jobs. Suck my dick and I’m happy.” 

Pat rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I don’t want to pee on you,” Jon says seriously. 

Pat turns his face into the pillow to muffle the sound of his cackling. “You’re such an idiot.” 

Jon’s smile is crooked but he looks subdued around the eyes. “It’s true.”

“Okay good,” Pat says, still laughing. “I don’t want you to piss on me either.” 

This time Jon’s smile reaches his eyes and crinkles the skin there. 

“That’s it, really,” Pat says. He closes the gap between them and presses his mouth over Jon’s. Their kiss is soft and languid and for a long time they keep it light. When they finally break apart, Jon’s lips are red and his cheeks are flushed. 

Jon sucks Pat’s lip into his mouth and then nips at it with his teeth. “So how rough?” he asks softly. Pat grins against his mouth. “Pretty rough.” 

Pat lets Jon roll him onto his back. When Jon kisses him, it’s hard and demanding. Pat opens his mouth to the assault, tipping his chin up. Jon leaves his mouth and sucks a line of bruises to Pat’s throat. He pushes Pat’s t-shirt up with one hand and then finds Pat’s nipple. It’s already stiffening when Jon twists it between his thumb and index finger. Pat arches into it. He can feel the flush spreading over his chest.

“Harder?” Jon asks. His mouth has caught Pat’s other nipple and he sucks on it ruthlessly. Pat’s likes the burn of Jon’s stubble scraping against his skin. 

“Yeah,” he says. He cups the back of Jon’s head with one hand while Jon pinches him until the skin blanches. Pat likes the spike of pain and the way the heat pools in his balls. His smile flickers. “That’s good,” he breathes. “That’s really good.” 

Jon works his boxers open with one hand and pulls his dick out. Pat watches him give himself a few strokes before sliding down the length of Jon’s chest. Jon kicks his underwear off and when Pat settles between his thighs, Jon sighs. Pat doesn’t waste time licking the length of Jon’s erection. There is a bead of precome already leaking at the tip when Pat’s sucks the head into his mouth. Jon sighs and rakes his fingertips over the top of Pat’s head. 

Pat breaks away from Jon’s dick long enough to look up at him through his eyelashes. “Fuck my mouth,” he says. 

Jon doesn’t hold back his groan. He shifts, pushing up on one elbow to get a better view. After the first few shy strokes Pat relaxes his mouth and tongue, letting Jon fuck deeper. 

“Oh shit,” Jon says stunned. 

Pat glances up and sees him staring down at him. He swallows around Jon’s dick and Jon shudders. Jon reaches down to press the pad of his thumb against the corner of Pat’s mouth. 

“Holy shit.” 

Pat swallows again and Jon closes his eyes. His mouth is hanging open and his tongue darts out to lick a wet path across his bottom lip. When Jon opens his eyes again, he looks dazed and there is a deep flush high on his cheekbones. Jon tugs on Pat’s hair, forcing his head back. 

“You’re so dirty,” he grits out. He starts to withdraw from Pat’s mouth and then snaps his hips forward again. Pat should gag from the force of it but instead, he grips Jon’s ass, holding him tight. “So fuckin’ dirty.” 

By the time Jon comes a few minutes later, he’s stammering a litany of curse words. Pat swallows and then mouths Jon’s dick as it softens. After a minute Jon reaches for his shoulder, pulling him up the bed. “C’mere.”

Pat’s dick is tenting against his boxers and there is a dark spot bleeding through the grey fabric. Jon hooks his fingers over the elastic band and drags them down Pat’s hips. His dick is hard and the head is an angry shade of purple. Jon spits into his palm and then slides his hand over the head. He grips the shaft and jerks Pat roughly, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Pat arches into it and reaches up to brace his hand against the headboard. He grinds down on Jon’s hand, breathing hard. Jon leans into him, nosing against Pat’s armpit. The skin there is still clean from his shower. Jon licks him and then bites the sensitive skin of Pat’s bicep. Pat jerks and his exhale sounds as though he’s absorbed a punch. 

“Is this okay?” Jon murmurs. He licks the spot where his teeth have left marks. Pat whimpers and nods so Jon bites him again. Pat hisses and his dick strains against Jon’s grip. Jon slides his grip lower and cups Pat’s balls, tugging them harder than he’d like if it were himself. He scratches through Pat’s pubic hair, pulling on them lightly. “This too?” 

Pat drops one hand and jerks his dick roughly. “Yeah, yeah. S’good.” His voice is gritty and fucked out. 

“Fuck,” Jon breathes. “You sound-“

Pat smiles and Jon lets him drag his head back toward his nipple. There is a bruised crescent ring starting to form. Jon seals his mouth over it anyway, and sucks until Pat is nearly whimpering. Pat’s heels dig restlessly into the mattress and his hips arch. Jon gives his balls a last squeeze and then covers Pat’s hand with his own. When Pat comes a few seconds later, it coats their fingers. Jon helps jerk him through the last dregs of his orgasm. 

Jon rolls him over onto his back and kisses him. There’s not much heat left and for the most part, they’re just lazy licks. Jon strokes his hand through the mess between them and Pat’s dick jerks weakly. “Jesus,” Jon swears softly. 

“Yeah,” Pat agrees. His voice is still a rough croak. Pat watches as Jon stares at his mouth. He lets his tongue rest against the back of his lip. “We’re good, right?” 

Jon shakes his head. “Your fucking voice is gonna wreck me. Say my name.” 

Pat smiles wider. “Jon. _Jonny_.”

Jon drops his head onto Pat’s chest and Pat puts one arm loosely over the back of his shoulders. Pat can feel Jon’s breath evening out against his chest and he lets himself doze for a minute. 

“How do you feel about cuffs?” Jon asks suddenly.

Pat can feel the buzz of Jon’s voice vibrate against his skin. He chuckles and pinches the back of Jon’s neck. “The black leather kind?” Pat asks. He lets the question sit for a beat. “I like ‘em,” 

“Good,” Jon says, sleepy. “Cause I have a few things in mind for next time.” 

 

Fin!


End file.
